Church Dark
by Diana the Burninator
Summary: Searching for freedom in a dream, the narrator finds their own path in the waking world.


Author's Note: This is one of a group of stories I wrote a few years back, which I've finally decided to post here. Like I said, they're not very recent, so don't expect anything profoundly wonderful, but I hope the readers here enjoy them.  
  
Disclaimer: Dream and all Sandman characters are the creations of Neil Gaiman and Mike Dringenberg and trademarks of DC Comics and Vertigo. This is a labor of love, and no money is being made off of it. Yadda, yadda, yadda...  
  
On with the show!  
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I felt trapped. Smothered. I felt like the whole thing surrounded me, forcing itself onto me while it covered my mouth to block the questions I wanted to ask. I felt like I wanted to scream, but I couldn't. It wouldn't let me.  
  
I've felt that way since I was a kid, really, since I first went to Sunday school. It just took me a while to realize it.  
  
Don't get me wrong, but I've just never really liked church. I've never really been able to understand the blind devotion they expect from the children. I was always asking questions:  
  
"How could God have made the Earth in one day?"  
  
"How come God doesn't answer me back when I pray?"  
  
"Did the dinosaurs go to Hell?"  
  
I was an ever-present frustration to my teachers. They could never get the right obedience from me. I'd listen to the lessons about Noah and Moses and all that stuff, but I don't think I ever really believed it. It never really soaked in.  
  
They didn't like the questions, and I got the feeling that many of them didn't really have any answers. They were just spouting out stuff from their lesson books. Simply reading. A lot of them really never tried to get any meaning out of the Bible verses. I could see it when I asked the questions. Why is this? What does that mean? They never could give me an answer.  
  
As a result of all this, I've never been a Christian, even when I thought I was. Even when I was a good little girl and did my assignments and went to the sermons. I honestly thought that this was how it was supposed to be. It couldn't be any other way. It didn't mean anything to me. Listen to the bishop talk about fire and brimstone. Put a nickel in the collection plate. Say my hollow prayers to a God I didn't know.  
  
Then, one day, I realized the truth. I wasn't a part of this. I was just pretending. It was a charade. But I didn't know any other way. What could I do?  
  
But that night, I had a flying dream. Not one of those exhilarating dreams where the whole sky is your playground. Not one where you flap your arms and you lift off the ground to watch the world below. I've had those.  
  
This one was different.  
  
I remember how the church looked. It was beautiful, in a melancholy way. It was small, only two short rows of seats, six to a row.  
  
The pews were all carved delicately out of a dark, reddish wood. Probably cherry. They glowed with an eerie light from the candles on the altar.  
  
The altar was of dark stone, towering above the floor in front. There was a symbol on the front. I can't remember what it was. Probably a cross. The stand was large and heavy, a seemingly commanding presence, even in the absence of a bishop. Or priest.  
  
Candles backlit the altar, giving a small amount of light to the place.  
  
That's one thing I didn't like about the church. The dark. That church dark that had existed in every single church that I had attended. They almost seemed to force it on you. It made it hard to see for yourself, so they were always happy to lead you. They always convinced you that if you didn't follow them, you'd go astray and fall into the dark, never to return. I always hated the dark of the church. Not being allowed to see for yourself.  
  
The thing I remember most about the scene was a man. I didn't get a good look at him, but I knew a few things about him immediately. He was very old. He didn't look old, but I knew that he was. He was older than the church he stood in though I was sure it had been here for centuries. He was probably older than I could imagine. Older than the sun that shone outside.  
  
I also knew that I was here because of him. He brought me here.  
  
He was very pale. White. His face was white. His hair. His robes. All white. A green jewel hung around his neck, sparkling despite the darkness of the surroundings. He stood out in the dankness of the church. I can't remember his face well, but I know it was a young face masking an old soul.  
  
He was looking at me.  
  
I was high above all this. I remember the smothering panic. I felt like I had to get out. To escape. I didn't belong in here.  
  
I flapped my wings. My wings were black, I remember. Black feathers. I can't remember exactly what I was, but I had the hunch I was a raven. I'd never actually been something else in a dream before. I'd always been me.  
  
I flew desperately around the church's vaulted ceiling, searching for an exit. There were huge stained glass windows. I flapped over to them and started to peck. I was in too much of a frenzy to land and try to open them, not that I could have. I pushed against the colored glass with my black beak. None of them opened. I wanted so much to leave.  
  
The man, I realized. It was his fault. He was the one keeping me here! I began to damn him in my head. Bastard! Keeping me here! Why? Again, the questions. They didn't belong here. Questions aren't welcome in the church.  
  
I didn't belong here. I belonged outside. Outside the church's walls. I needed to be free. I needed to fly. These damned walls and windows blocked out the light. The sun was shining outside. I knew that it was beautiful out there. Rolling green hillsides. Emerald grass. A large blue sky. Gusts of wind for me to ride. I knew that that was where I was meant to be. Instead, I was trapped in here. Damn him!  
  
Honestly, how many birds have you seen in a church? Birds belong outside, where they can be free. I needed to escape. Freedom was the only thing on my mind. I've never been claustrophobic, but I could almost feel the walls closing in. This tiny place. There was so much outside, if only I could get through!  
  
All the time, the pale man just stood in the middle of the place and watched. He didn't say a thing. He didn't try to help me. I came close to flying down to scratch out his eyes.  
  
I cawed frantically, clawing at the windows and walls with my sharp, black talons. It only made my feet ache. I actually felt pain in the dream. I still remember the exhaustion in my wings as I began to droop. I couldn't give up. I knew there was a way out.  
  
Suddenly, I noticed the door. It was wide open on the east side of the church. The sun shone through it. I could almost see the world outside. There was so much to explore beyond church walls. So many things to see and different ways to see them. So many...beliefs.  
  
I looked down at the man again. I had been wrong. He wasn't holding me here. He was showing me the door. The door out. The man watched, and I almost thought I could see a smile on his white lips.  
  
I wanted to kiss him.  
  
I beat my black wings and made for the door. I could see the world outside, so full of life and promise. There was so much I knew I couldn't find in the church that the outside could give me.  
  
The sun was shining just the way I knew it would. It filled the world outside with so much light and warmth. I could see my own way. I could choose my own path, letting the winds carry me. I could ride them to my final destination. Where that was, I had no idea.  
  
I was so close. It was so clear to me then. All I had to do was go through the door that had been shown to me....  
  
After that, I have no recollection. I may never have made it through the door, rudely interrupted by real life. I may have made it through the door and seen the world beyond. It's quite possible that I could have forgotten. Or maybe the white man just took it from me. Perhaps he wanted me to discover it for myself.  
  
Everything of that dream, save for the end, stayed with me after I woke.  
  
I wish that I could figure out who that man was. The man who showed me the way. I'll be forever grateful to him. Maybe I'll see him again some time. If I do, I'll give him that kiss.  
  
I left my church that day. It was a Sunday, oddly enough. I told the pastor my decision. He accepted it and actually wished me luck. He also told me that I was wlecome to return whenever I wanted. I thanked him, of course, but I don't think I'll ever be going back to that place.  
  
I won't miss it. I won't miss the services that I never really attended. Sure, I mean, I was there, but my heart wasn't in it.  
  
I also won't miss all the rules that bound me. The Commandments. The Sins. I'm free of them. I shed them as a chick sheds its baby down. I've learned to fly for myself, not relying on anything else anymore. I'm my own girl.  
  
I walked outside that Sunday morning as the words of the sermon began. They were meant for those with faith in the church. Not for me. I don't remember the words, not that it matters. For me, they had nothing to offer.  
  
The sun shone down on me that morning. It was a beautiful day. I remember that. Spring. The world was so bright, and it took my eyes a second to adjust. Things were different.  
  
I was shown the door, and I left. The world outside is beautiful, and I'm going to find my own way in it.  
  
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I walked across the grass of the church's lawn and whistled a tune from a movie that I'd seen somewhere. I didn't know the words. Perhaps there weren't any.  
  
I left the church that day to find my own way.  
  
And I know the door will still be open if I ever decide to go back.  
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Story Notes: This, as you might guess, is a very personal story to me. It's a mish-mash of actual experiences, an unpleasant dream I really had, and some stuff I made up to make it a little more interesting. I threw Dream in there as sort of an excuse to show it to people, but he fits the role quite well, doesn't he? 


End file.
